Author's notes : This is very obviously a made-up story. We do meet as a bunch of people on Sundays for a ride, all the places are indeed real (look them up on Google Maps) and well travelled.
I will add that the girl in the story is real as well, although I am pretty sure that she will not be reading this little piece.
I am a keen bike fan, and have tried to mix my love of bicycles with a love story. At first I was thinking of this being the first chapter of a longish story, but my ideas wander in and out, and decided that it would be a standalone.
Perhaps down the line I will think about adding another story to make it a two part series. But not for know.
***
Every Sunday, without fail, a group of people, just about labelled as cyclists would meet at the roundabout barely five minutes up the road from where I live. We would sometimes be five, ten, twenty, or more. We never made plans on who was coming or how many we would be.
We just met, and went for an approximately twenty mile leisurely ride. Ages would range between fourteen and seventy. Our pace was always very placid, very much in keeping with our tradition of a social gathering.
Today the weather was really terrible. Warm winds were blowing from the south and pretty soon, the numbers were in the high nineties. I disliked the heat intensely, and usually skipped very hot sessions.
But on this day I decided to throw caution to the wind and get my bike ready. Three iced bottles, my usual toolkit, and my spare mobile phone went into the saddle bag. I carried my Trek gravel bike down the stairs, grumbling, not for the first time, why the hell I had decided to not choose the bottom apartment. Granted, the upper floor apartment had a largish patio, but it wasn't as if I was using it regularly.
I took a breather, put on my helmet, a Giro Vanquish costing more than a hundred euros, checked the tyres again for pressure, brake cables functioning correctly, and mounted the bike.
The street behind my home opened to a large parking area belonging to the primary school, and beyond that was the new road linking the central area of the island to the South East, where the majority of us lived.
I traversed that via the pelican lights crossing, annoying a couple of motorists who could not understand why I did not use the underpass. I gave them the bird and continued on my way. Fucking tin-can warriors.
Arriving at the usual meeting place I was not surprised to see that there was only one other person there. It was hot way beyond anything I had ever experienced, and it was still only nine in the morning. Maltese summers tend to be scorchers.
"Hiya Kati", I greeted the girl. Katinka was a Czech girl who had come to live in Malta with her parents when she was just a kid. Kati, as we called her, was a kid no more these days.
Tall and strong, nice butt and large breasts which strained at her cycling top way too much. Granted she wore a sports bra, but it was always nice to see her. She was a bit chunky, but it all added to the definition of a gorgeous girl.
Kati rode what society has always termed as a ladies bike. Or, in cycling terms, a step-through. The name "ladies bike" was coined in an earlier era when women wore large voluminous skirts. Hocking one leg over the seat or a top tube was not considered too lady-like. Hence the looping frame. I had one of them too, an Orbea Boulevard which I used for urban cycling. Definitely far more comfortable than the gravel bike I was riding today.
"Hey yourself, Chris. How's it hanging?" Kati had no hang-ups about jokes we men usually indulge in. Being a Czech (she came from Liberec, Northern part of the country), she was far more liberal than any local girl I knew. She often regaled us with tales of swinging parties which seemed to be the norm in her country of origin.
"Hanging fine thanks" I replied with a smile. I liked Kati. Too much, actually. I mostly rode alongside her on our weekly outing.
"I know there's still ten minutes to go before deadline time, but I'm willing to guess nobody else will show up."
"Yeah. It's too hot isn't it?"
"I was planning on riding to Karwija behind the airport. My uncle has a piece of farmland and a small place there. Quiet, secluded, decent place with a small pool."
"That's cool", I replied. "I can ride there with you and leave you while I go on."
"Or you could stay and we enjoy the day. Have a nice swim. Make a day of it. Relax a bit."
"That would be great." I agreed. "If you wait for me I can go home and grab my swimming shorts."
"Aw bollocks. I don't have a bathing suit either." Kati held her hand over her mouth as she giggled.
Wow. I thought of the options in my mind. She definitely would not want expensive cycling shorts marred by the chlorine. Lycra wear was expensive.
"Sure. No problem. Uh. Food though?"
"Christ, you idiot. We're going to a farmhouse owned by my family. You can't possibly think there's no food there do you? I did bring a few sandwiches with me, but just for a snack. Aunty Jodie assured me there's enough food to feed an army."
I shrugged. "What's keeping us then? Let's go."
We mounted our bikes and turned down Santa Lucija, past the church and up Pine Drive, turning into "Garnaw Alley", then left into "Santu Kristu" pathway. This led us to the road leading to the international airport, which we traversed on the interior road-ring, a bike/walking path all around our airfield. At the top end of the runway, we turned right into "Sqaq il Karwija", or Karwija Alley, a charming mesh of alleyways and little country lanes.
The sun had climbed higher by the time we arrived. Katinka was never a fast rider, and I chafed at the bit, preferring to live my life in the fast lane, but I enjoyed talking to her, as usual. She was a very intelligent woman, very much my equal, except where it came to motor vehicle engines, where she stripped me bare to the bone. Electronics was my forte'.
Her face was red with effort, mostly due to the heat, and I have to admit that my discomfort was also very high. Watering stops were mandatory and it felt good to quench the thirst.
"No need to skimp" she said, as she poured a generous amount of water down her cleavage. My eyes nearly popped out. "Plenty of water where we're going."
We finally arrived at a large two-leaf brown wooden gate with the sign "Clearwell Cottage" on it. Kati dismounted, rested her bike against one of the stone pillars holding up the gates, and rummaged in her handlebar bag for what I could only surmise, was the key.
"Your family own Clearwater?" I finally asked.
"Yeah. they've had it for many decades now."
I had always wondered who this handsome building belonged to, and now my curiosity was sated. She opened one of the gates and rolled her bicycle to an awning which provided shade.
I puffed, sweaty with the heat. It was indeed, not ideal cycling temperature.
Katinka removed her helmet and closed the gate before proceeding to remove her shoes, socks, and cycling bib. This left her in her bike shorts and sports bra. Being white, it really did not hide anything. We were sweaty and the end result could be seen through the soaking clothes. My bib was drenched, and I took it off immediately, relishing the slightly cooler air in the shade.
My clipless shoes were the next to go, as were my short cotton socks.
I looked around and I could see the pool there, glistening in the sunlight. Kati was right, it wasn't very big, but it was wet enough, and that was all I needed.
